


The Flower Disease

by Ekevka



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Crack, Fluff, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Orson Krennic has Hanahaki, References to Depression, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, cuddles as a form of expressing affection, it's hanahaki but with a twist - it's a flower diarrhea not a flower tuberculosis, one (1) slightly graphic kiss, possible ooc, there is no graphic depictions of actual diarrhea, you cannot pursuade me that Tarkin's flower is not a thistle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22971199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ekevka/pseuds/Ekevka
Summary: Orson Krennic knew he wasn't a terribly lucky man. Nonetheless, getting a Flower Disease over Wilhuff Tarkin was the icing on whatever cake his life was turning into.Surely the cake was bound to be inedible at this point.
Relationships: Orson Krennic/Wilhuff Tarkin, Wilhuff Tarkin & Darth Vader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 24





	The Flower Disease

**Author's Note:**

> Mind the tags - I've tried to make it as crackish as it would go.  
> Many thanks to my beta, aninfiniteweirdo! Whatever mistakes are left are my own.

The Flower Disease was a rather unfortunate name. People thought how pretty it was, how romantic, yet even the most common form was bloody and painful, almost from the very beginning.

Krennic, of kriffing course, managed to be among those unlucky ones who got a rarer secondary form of this psychological herpes. The good news was that it wasn't inherently deadly if one managed not to succumb to unavoidable collateral symptoms.

And if one could manage their affairs from the refresher, of course, for the primary way for the flowers to leave his body was through his rear end - and this was why this type was commonly referred to as 'flower diarrhea'.

Krennic knew who was the cause of the flowers. He did want it to be Galen, of course: the man might have never held any romantic feelings for Krennic, but a kiss or several for the sake of Krennic's health wouldn't hurt, would they?

But, alas, it was not Galen Erso. The Flower Disease was rumoured to be the mildest when one came near their object of affection, but Krennic felt no relief being near Galen. In fact, the diarrhea was the strongest when Krennic spent any reasonable amount of time at the Eadu faculty. Once Krennic had established that he had consulted the foremost expert on the illness. After all, the reason for the flowers was his own feelings, ones he buried deep enough for bloody thistle to practically sprout out of his arsehole! He was certain that the disease couldn't communicate with the object of Krennic's unrequited affection to find out whether said object was jealous.

The doctor explained that the symptoms would grow based on how Krennic himself saw his chances. When he would be considering them low, the flowers would grow in amount and size, but any positive interaction with the object of his affection would diminish the symptoms until Krennic would be certain that the feelings are returned. Provided that they are returned, of course.

Krennic almost laughed out loud. A  _ positive _ interaction? The only reason why the  _ Executrix _ 's refreshers were not drowning in flowers was the fact that Krennic usually ate a load of enterosorbents and painkillers before any meeting with Tarkin, not because he was so painfully in love with the bloody Grand Moff as to cherish even the inevitable budget meetings!

Trust his subconscious to represent Tarkin with thistle. What a pain in the arse, both literally and figuratively!

***

As much as Tarkin enjoyed the last confrontation with Krennic, the result was somewhat underwhelming. The director posed and threatened, but hadn’t even left the station: the last reports had him locked up in his quarters and awaiting Erso’s arrival from the Eadu faculty. 

This was disappointing: Tarkin was self-aware enough to admit that the reports from various places Krennic would turn over in his quest to prove his personal worth were quite often the highlights of Tarkin’s administrative work. It was rather unlike Krennic to be so… so contained. Was he ill? Did Tarkin go too far? But, honestly, who would have ever given such a marvellous outcome of engineering and industrial might of the Empire to a common architect with a questionable fashion sense?   
Not that Tarkin believed this particular pain in the arse to be common, but honestly speaking Krennic might just use the Star to clean up some slums on the Imperial Center as a cheaper alternative to a proper demolition team.

Erso was brought in and immediately locked up in a cell, although Krennic was yet to officially proclaim him a traitor. Tarkin actually almost stormed down to Krennic’s rooms in order to find out just what was the reason: either Erso was finally ousted as a turncoat (not that Tarkin would find much personal amusement in this, even if consoling Krennic might be a bonus), or Krennic was one and currently tried to escape punishment by inventing a convenient scapegoat.

The last option had actually made Tarkin reconsider making a scene. He was mostly biased against Krennic, but the man surely was not a rebel? It would somehow be really disappointing. Upsetting even, Tarkin understood with a start and wondered if he was getting soft in his old age. Surely, not even the solemn delight with which Krennic was looking at Jedha’s test firing was ground for any  _ feelings _ ? Especially feelings that might prevent him, Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin, from punishing a traitor?

While Tarkin was contemplating Krennic's behavior, the man somehow managed to sneak out to answer Vader's summons personally. Strange, that, when he wouldn't go in person to Eadu! Krennic’s trip was so short that by the time Scarif reported a breach and Tarkin recounted his officers the director was back. Not in his quarters, though, but in medbay, and Tarkin almost felt sorry for his earlier thinking that Krennic might be ill. To be fair, surviving meeting with Vader was always an achievement for the director, and now he claimed another - ‘be alive enough to get into the medbay’. Tarkin thought about congratulating Vader on his restraint. He could even try to ask just what Krennic was summoned for... 

Scarif breach came first, though. A badly conducted turn of events - by the time Tarkin arrived they could still turn back the tide of the space battle, but the base was in shambles. Not exactly overrun, but the panicky notes in General Romodi’s transmissions were bad enough to warrant a swift response. Apparently, too much sun and sea had a detrimental effect on one's competency. 

Yet even when commanding Scarif base to be obliterated Tarkin couldn’t help but feel the bridge was too empty. Krennic would have liked to look at another successful test, perhaps compare some technical specks, and Tarkin would have conducted a test of his own, taking great care to figure out whether Krennic would have looked at Scarif exactly the way he looked at Jedha.

Surely whatever Vader crushed was not a reason to miss such a spectacle! Why couldn’t Krennic come out of the medbay, watch the obliteration and then head back? It’s not like they destroy cities and bases every other day. Not yet, anyway: two in a row are but a coincidence. 

It was high time Tarkin checked Krennic's condition anyway. 

***

DV: I never took you to be a thistle lover. How do you manage?

WT: What are you talking about?

DV: That pet director of yours.

WT: Krennic is my subordinate. How exactly this herb affects that?

DV: I never knew you to be so kinky, Tarkin. 

WT: What?

WT: We have a WORKING relationship!

WT: Have you forgotten AGAIN that subordinate and submissive are not completely synonymous?

WT: Vader, what exactly have you been doing with Krennic?

WT: Vader!

***

The main problem of medbay was the innate boredom of it. Unless you were asleep, your own pain was the only distraction. Krennic, however, ate painkillers almost instead of food, so even the cramps could be overlooked in favour of something more interesting.

Given that his datapad was confiscated by the doctor (something about needing to sleep, as if the man thought himself immune to Krennic's wrath once he was out!), the only other option was thinking. Not a bad one, usually, but right now the lack of sufficient stimulation and the feeling of thistle growing inside (even with painkillers this was downright nasty) had driven Krennic's thoughts to recent events. 

Apparently, even one serious row with Tarkin was enough to make the thistle take root. Even one, and they had two in as many days! The immediate effects of the first were painful, but Krennic managed to work despite it, although even then he couldn't leave for Eadu. Given that there his symptoms were always worse, he could very well be completely covered in thistle even before they landed in the everlasting Eadu storms.

The second, however… Krennic would never forget the feeling of sheer helplessness that descended once he woke up after Mustafar.

He knew Tarkin was ruthless and opportunistic - the man was hardly a harmless eye candy! - but somehow a strike right after such success as Jedha was twice as painful. It was seemingly lucky that Krennic hadn't yet fallen into his despair before the summons to Mustafar came, for otherwise not even the threat of Vader would have been sufficient to drag him out of his rooms.

As it stood Krennic was angry enough to attempt revenge right away. There was a limited number of individuals to whom he could complain about Tarkin’s takeover of the station, but Vader, for some reason, didn't take kindly to even the slightest provocation. Krennic passed out and had awoken only back on the station itself, in the medbay.

But why didn't Vader kill him outright? The dark lord was overly protective of Tarkin if the slightest insult was enough to make him act, and yet Krennic lived. 

Was it a kind of warning? Why? Was he not to undermine the Grand Moff in the same way? Or was he not to feel for him? After all, the Flower Disease was said to project in the Force, and Lord Vader was obviously strong in it. Was Lord Vader protective of his friend or jealous of a rival? If that was the latter, then Krennic was fucked twice over. There was no way he could compete with Vader, not when Tarkin had made it so clear just what he thought of Krennic's professional competence. 

The roots, fairly dormant before, started to obviously bloom in response to Krennic's inner monologue. The painkillers were still effective, so the most he felt was an itch he couldn't scratch and blood trickling down his thighs.

Krennic turned to his side and activated the IVs. He wasn't that far gone as to go down quietly from blood loss. Even if he would never command the Star as was his right, even if he would never get rid of that bloody thistle, he still was the Director of Advanced Weaponry Research Division. And his domain was not only the Star, even if it sometimes felt like it. He will recover, he will show them all, what he was made of, even if it required pruning thistle every hour! He could even save time on eating. There was no way his digestive system would be working properly with all the roots inside.

Krennic contemplated calling for a doctor to check whatever damage his bout of depression might have caused, but decided against it: the man was bound to make his rounds soon enough to not bother coming early.

Krennic even managed to almost dose off, but then the room's door opened with a barely perceived squick.

“Are you just sleeping, director?” a surprisingly welcomed voice asked.

Krennic bit back the first response and lifted his head to show the bandages. His neck was almost painless compared to thistle, which already was calming down, the traitor, but speaking was a bit of a hassle he'd rather avoid.

Grand Moff Tarkin seemed a bit… haggard. As if he hadn't slept for a couple of days, although Krennic couldn't begin to fathom why. Was the direct governance of the Star the final straw? Serves him right!

“Well, at least you are in medbay,” Tarkin remarked while keeping his eyes strangely focused on Krennic's neck as if he could see the bruises through the bacta patch. “Nonetheless, I had expected you on the bridge. We had to respond to Scarif's emergency, and the station performed as well as she did over Jedha.” 

“One reactor ignition?” Krennic croaked almost against his will: he received no news whatsoever about anything going down on Scarif, and was likely to never get another opportunity to ask someone as knowledgeable about this as Tarkin.

And the thistle really seemed to stop growing as Tarkin talked. What a pity he had nothing to record his voice!

“Yes, of course. The whole planet is still needed,” Tarkin replied after a slight pause. “You can even examine the crater and later on try your hand at rebuilding the base.”

Krennic frowned. He was an architect, yes, but he believed himself over petty squabbles around various typical Imperial building projects. After all, there was little one could do with a base - those always had strict requirements and minimum budget.

Tarkin frowned as well.

“Why exactly are you hiding in medbay? I think even your fancy attempt at uniform has enough space for bandages, hasn't it?” he looked over Krennic. “Or is there something more serious than lost voice?”

“Just a chronic illness,” Krennic managed to croak back. “Tell me more about Scarif, governor,” he tried to look as pleading as he could since there was no way he could manage a longer conversation.

And the more Tarkin spoke, the less thistle there would be left…

“There is not much left to talk about,” Tarkin looked over Krennic again, this time from legs back up to the neck. “The tsunami was magnificent. I think there might be a holo somewhere?” he looked around, seemingly searching for something, then moved to a small side table.

“Why Scarif?” Krennic asked, following Tarkin with his eyes. 

“There was a rebel attack. Revenge for Gerrera, no doubt,” Tarkin had leafed through a couple of flimsy left on the table. “We have dealt with them, and even made some progress at uncovering a select few from the upper echelons who share their views. Vader is pursuing them as we speak,” Tarkin had looked around the room again, obviously still not having found whatever he was searching for.

Krennic felt his inner thistle slightly shake at the mention of Lord Vader. Tarkin wouldn't look at him, and could speak about the Dark Lord so casually… Oh, for kriff's sake! It was one thing to fall in love with Krennic's superior, but to be jealous of the Emperor's right hand machine?

“What are you searching for?” asked Krennic just to make his thoughts go in a different direction. He turned to look at Tarkin, managing to precariously sit on his right thigh while leaving his butt in the air and not moving his neck overly much.

The reward was worth it: Tarkin was looking at a datapad fixed at the foot of the bed. The soft orange light of the lamps coloured his hair to a shade close to sunrise over Lexrul and Krennic suddenly was quite certain that his mouth was dry not only from speaking.

He wished he could take a holo. Or change all the lights inside the station to those orange ones, so that Tarkin could look even more handsome than usual.

“Your diagnosis,” Tarkin finally answered. He was still reading, calm and engrossed, and Krennic managed to ignore the first inklings of rage at the way Tarkin seemed to ignore his boundaries. “Wait, did you just describe the flower disease as  _ chronic _ ?” he lifted his eyes at Krennic looking so baffled that the director couldn't help but laugh.

This quickly proved to be a mistake: not only laughing actually  _ hurt _ , but Tarkin quickly moved his eyes away, now looking typically stern.

“Why haven't you cut the flowers out? Or were you planning to?“ Tarkin asked, still not looking at Krennic.

“That's impossible,” Krennic barely whispered.

Still, Tarkin heard.

“Why not? I've done it. As easy as having your appendix removed, or so I was told,” he harrumphed and tapped his fingers against his lips in thought. “Certainly easier to recover from than the bloody cough. I still might have the doctor's contact somewhere. Or do you actually want to keep your feelings?” and now finally Tarkin looked him directly into the eyes.

Krennic slightly shook his head, trying not to bother his neck too much. Trust Tarkin to have overcome the illness with his usual lack of care. How unfortunate that Krennic cannot even ask  _ when _ did Tarkin catch the disease: he hoped it was in Tarkin's youth, something to bury back home and never remember, for then in time the ability to love would have returned. In theory. Or just to like things. Surely even Tarkin had a favourite activity? But if it was a more recent surgery, then Tarkin would be even more immune than usual to any feelings…

“My type is inoperable,” he finally whispered, feeling the roots inside him shift as if they were a strange child, capable of knowing when the parents speak of it. “It should be written there.”

Tarkin lifted his eyebrow, but complied and looked at the datapad again. Krennic could see the exact moment Tarkin read about the particularities of the disease: while the governor didn't laugh outright, his lips turned into a smile for a moment.

“That's not funny,” Krennic whispered while committing the smile to his memory. “I can't sit properly because of you!” he winced because his vocal cords were pretty much done at this point.

The door squeaked in the manner it did when someone closed it before it opened fully. Krennic was ready to facepalm: at best the rumors would be about Tarkin fucking him and not about him pining for the governor!

Tarkin, however, seemed to miss Krennic's mistake. He was frowning - apparently, at second thought diarrhea was not that hilarious a concept.

“Who is it, Krennic? Erso?” he asked, low and dangerous. “Who dared to not appreciate you?”

_ Well, you for a start, -  _ came a thought that echoed in a somewhat painful twist of the roots. The painkillers must be wearing off… 

The only positive thing about having a vocal cords injury was that Krennic now had an additional time to think about his words. Despite the mistake earlier, Tarkin didn't seem to guess that Krennic got his thistle because of him. Should this be corrected or could Krennic lead the governor astray? Let him guess for a while and maybe even find a better candidate than poor Galen, who for now had to be kept back in the cell for his own safety. 

“No,” Krennic whispered, then winced, showing that he couldn't speak more than that.

Tarkin's eyes flashed with some emotion. It was not anger or even curiosity, but Krennic hasn’t always guessed the governor's moods right …

“Is it someone from the engineering corps? A scientist?” Tarkin asked, somehow still keen on guessing.

Krennic thought about shaking his head, but his neck was somewhat throbbing now, so he resorted to hand gestures. A slight shake of his left hand and Tarkin harrumphed louder.

“Anyone from the Palace?” he asked, stepping a bit closer. “Or a senator?”

Krennic again shook his hand twice, more certain the second time. Tarkin was quite often welcome in the Imperial Palace, but he wasn’t exactly a courtier.

“Not someone from the ISB, certainly!” Tarkin exclaimed as if the options were  _ that _ limited.

Krennic gestured rather wildly, trying to convey that the governor was getting further and further from the truth. Tarkin smirked, obviously getting that, but then frowned again.

“Not Vader? He doesn’t like men,” he said and again looked at Krennic’s neck as if the very notion of bruises there offended him.

Krennic made a face, trying to convey that the idea of being romantically attracted to Vader was far from his desires, Vader’s own preferences notwithstanding -  _ and why Tarkin is so certain? _

This whole situation was quickly turning into a farce. Why is Tarkin that interested? The guessing game had gone for a bit too long to be funny - Tarkin certainly had some kind of underlying reason to know just who was the cause of the disease. Was he looking for something to mock? But the very existence of the disease was enough for that!

“Let me say it differently,“ Krennic had to pause for a bit, but Tarkin waited without a sound. “Who out of all imperial officers can be represented by thistle in my ass?”

“That’s vulgar, director,” Tarkin almost reflectively bit back, but Krennic could see that some connection was finally made. For once, Tarkin looked smug, not murderous. “And, for the record, I like lavender more.”

“Me too,” answered Krennic with relief, feeling some of the flowers dissolve. Not all, though… and then he had an idea. “Can I ask you to do something?”

“Yes,” Tarkin nodded. 

“Kiss me? Just for the sake of my swift recovery,” Krennic tried to say it as quick as his throat would allow.

Tarkin’s eyebrows lifted up, but he moved to sit on Krennic’s bed. He carefully put a hand on the bed just beside Krennic and leaned over him, yet stopped, sitting still as a viper.

“For the sake of your recovery and return back into ranks,” he whispered so quietly Krennic had to strain to hear it as if Tarkin was saying it mostly for his own benefit.

And then Tarkin kissed him. His lips were chapped a bit but Krennic was more focused on the heat of Tarkin’s mouth on his, and a minuscule teasing of a menthol-tasting tongue on his own lips. The pressure was barely noticeable as if Tarkin was restraining himself, and Krennic couldn’t bear it any longer: he moved forward, ignoring his own precarious position and protesting neck and put his hands into Tarkin’s strangely soft hair, pulling him closer.

Tarkin retaliated by slightly nibbling on Krennic’s lips. His spare hand clutched Krennic's shoulder hard enough to bruise: Krennic could feel himself getting harder just thinking how  _ exactly _ Tarkin would be able to manhandle him.

And then Tarkin did push Krennic slightly backwards, interrupting the kiss.

“Shouldn’t you rest?” he asked breathlessly, trying to squirm out of Krennic's grasp.

Krennic made a distressed noise in lieu of saying anything.

“I'm not saying I am against any kind of carnal relationship with you, but no magic kiss helps against that,” Tarkin made a wild gesture encompassing not only Krennic but the entirety of the room.

“Don't leave,” Krennic managed to whisper, and patted the bed to make his point across. "What if I relapse during the night?" he added as quickly as he could.

“I am not used to sleep with somebody. You're likely to kick me out after one night, flower disease or not,” despite his words, Tarkin carefully took off his cylinders and rank badge and put them on the bedside table.

Krennic looked with wide eyes at the way Tarkin disrobed: the governor was swift as a well-trained cadet, but at the same time he seemed to show off - there certainly was no other explanation why he would take the undershirt off before trousers.

The multitude of scars did bother Krennic, but his throat was throbbing now, so any kind of dialogue had to wait. Thankfully, the thistle seemed to pass. Krennic could even sit now without any particular discomfort.

They arranged themselves on the bed, face to face as if for an interview, and Krennic resolved to watch Tarkin sleep, even if it required pretending to fall asleep first. He closed his eyes and kept breathing steady and loud. 

Several minutes had passed, and Krennic almost decided to sneak a glance, when Tarkin's hands embraced him tightly.

“You're warm,” the governor slurred.

Krennic opened his eyes, but Tarkin  _ was _ asleep. And yet he moved closer to Krennic, he cuddled as they haven't yet while conscious, and even if he was looking for a source of warmth due to old man metabolism or something, Krennic couldn't help but hug Tarkin in return.

His neck still hurt, but there was no sign of any discomfort in the bowel region, and there was Tarkin, alive and real in his bed - Krennic snuggled closer and fell asleep listening to the governor's steady heartbeat.


End file.
